Crossroad
by Esther-Channah
Summary: Police Detective Gary Sloan has been trying to solve a murder case for the last six years. Tonight, the victims' son pays him a visit.


Reference: Batman 603

Thanks to Jules and Dana for the beta!

**Crossroad**

The phone rang, its harsh jangling jolting the police detective's attention away from the case file on his desk. He picked it up with a measure of irritation. "Sloan!"

"There's someone here for you at the front desk," the receptionist said politely.

Sloan's eyebrows shot up. He wasn't expecting company. His eyes flicked over to his desk calendar. Realization dawned. "Tell me… um…"

"Donavan, Sir."

He nodded. "Donavan. This wouldn't by any chance be a kid about fourteen or so, dark hair, blue eyes?"

"How'd you know?"

Sloan sighed. "He's a few days early."

"What?"

Sloan sighed. "Nothing, I'll be right down." He took a last drag on his cigarette, and then stabbed the butt out in the ashtray.

* * *

He spotted the kid before the kid spotted him. The boy had grown taller in the last year, and he cut a good figure in the dark blue blazer, striped tie and charcoal pants. From the crest on the blazer pocket, Sloan saw that he was attending Somerset prep. It was a good school, not just an expensive one.

The kid was leaning against the stucco wall, studying the people hurrying past.

Sloan sighed. As much as he was glad to see the kid, he hated these meetings. They reminded him all too well that being one of the good guys didn't necessarily mean that you always won. He bit gently down on the inside of his lower lip, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door to the waiting area. "Hello, Bruce."

Bruce Wayne strode toward him. "Detective Sloan."

The voice had grown deeper since he'd heard it last, Sloan remarked to himself. It probably still had a ways to go before it would reach its final timbre, but the figure who now stood before him no longer sounded like a child. He was growing up. _Without his parents._

Sloan took the outstretched hand awkwardly. "It's been almost a year, Bruce. How are you?"

Bruce drew himself up straighter. "I'm well, thank you, sir. May we speak in your office?"

For answer, Sloan held the door open for him.

They walked in silence, Bruce attempting to appear calm. _Mature_, Sloan thought, _or putting on a good show of it at any rate._ He'd been like that at fourteen himself, as he recalled. He showed the boy into his office. "At ease," he smiled. "Pull up a chair."

Bruce shook his head, but he dropped the affected pose. "I'll stand, if I may," he replied.

_Private school manners_, the detective thought. _Or lessons from that butler of his. _He shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said and took a deep breath. "I…"

Bruce cut him off. "You still don't have any leads, or you would have called to tell me."

Sloan shook his head. "I'm sorry, Bruce. I wish I had better news."

"But the trail is six years cold, and you have other cases." Bruce didn't sound angry or accusatory so much as he did resigned.

"Both true," Sloan admitted, "but I haven't given up." He leaned forward, steepling his hands with his fingertips pointed outwards. "I made you a promise, and I mean to keep it. We _will_ find him."

The mask of polished manners fell away. "Will you?" He asked, looking and sounding more like the eight-year-old he'd been at their first encounter. "Or are you just…" He bit his lip and looked away.

He couldn't blame the kid. "If it was in my power to bring him in tonight," he said, "I would. But I think you're old enough to understand that I can't put a timeframe on it. I want you to know that I've gone over your parents' file with a fine-tooth comb many times over the last few years. I've put feelers out through a few… contacts I have."

Bruce's eyes snapped up. "Contacts? You mean crooks?"

Sloan nodded. "Sometimes that's how we get the big ones—let the little ones walk in exchange for a little help." Seeing the youth's expression, he sighed. "We wouldn't get half of the ones we _do_ nail if it weren't for deals like those." He shook his head. "Anyway, they've come up dry, too. I'm sorry."

Bruce shook his head. "I didn't think you were any closer," he said. "But I'd hoped." He let out a deep breath. "I guess I'll be going, then."

"I'll call," Sloan said. "If there's a break in the case."

Bruce hesitated. "How long will you keep looking?" He asked. "I… I've been doing some reading. Most cases that stay open this long don't get solved."

"This one will," Sloan said. "I can't promise you when. I _can_ promise you that I will do everything within my control to find your parents' killer—and if I can't, I promise you that I will turn this case over to somebody who will pursue it and not let it collect dust in some cold case filing cabinet." He sighed. "I wish it were in my power to offer you more than that, Bruce."

Bruce bit his lip. He looked as though he wanted to say something further but thought better of it. "Thank you," he said finally. He turned to leave.

"Here, I'll walk you out."

As they headed down the corridor, Bruce said, "I might not be back for awhile."

"Oh?"

Bruce hesitated. "You made me a promise six years ago. I made myself one that same night."

"Yeah?"

Bruce took a deep breath. "I promised myself that I'd do everything in _my_ power to make Gotham a place where what happened to me in Crime Alley won't happen to anyone else." Seeing Sloan's expression, he plunged on. "I know how crazy that sounds, and I don't really know how I'm going to do it yet—but I think I might have to go away to learn. So if you don't see me for a few years after this…"

"I'll keep working the case, kid," Sloan affirmed. "And I think that's probably at least about as crazy as whatever it is you're planning."

"But you're still going to work it."

"Yep."

"And you're going to solve it."

"One day."

"Soon."

They parted ways at the steps leading from the lobby down to the main door. Sloan returned to his office to continue his work, while Bruce headed out into the night… to begin his.


End file.
